


Socrates Drank Hemlock

by jettiebettie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt Stiles, M/M, References to people being eaten, intentional self-poisoning for the sake of survival, soon to be jossed portrayal of Deucalion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jettiebettie/pseuds/jettiebettie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, someone putting a bullet in his head would probably be preferable to this. He pressed his back into the corner of the room and pulled his knees up toward himself. He leaned forward to rest his head against them and immediately regretted it as the shift in equilibrium did violent things to his stomach. The bitter, acrid taste in his mouth had little to do with the bile rising in his throat and everything to do with the purple flower he'd eaten just a few minutes prior. Like an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socrates Drank Hemlock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solitario24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitario24/gifts).



> For Lily, my Great Enabler.

 “Oh, this was a bad idea. This was the worst idea. I should be shot for this idea.”

 Honestly, someone putting a bullet in his head would probably be preferable to this. He pressed his back into the corner of the room and pulled his knees up toward himself. He leaned forward to rest his head against them and immediately regretted it as the shift in equilibrium did violent things to his stomach. The bitter, acrid taste in his mouth had little to do with the bile rising in his throat and everything to do with the purple flower he'd eaten just a few minutes prior. Like an _idiot_. Why, why, why-

“Come on out, Stiles!”

 Insistent pounding rattled the reinforced door to the Argents' basement. Oh, yeah. That's why. Stiles tried to ignore the burning in his limbs and the numbness in his face and fingers that he hadn't quite had time to factor into this spur of the moment plan of his. Instead, he tried to focus on the more successful parts: Allison now had time to get Scott and her father to Deaton. Deaton would take care of them, make sure they don't bleed out- _Jesus, there was so much blood_. But no, Deaton would take care of that.

 “Open this door, Stiles, or I'll eat the skin off of you!”

 And he would. The crazy fucker would actually eat him like he had those other people. _Fuck_. But no, that's okay. He's got this. He can do this. He can't punch through a wall or do the stupid werewolf run or whatever, but this? This is within his means. Being bait isn't the same as being Batman, but he's gotten pretty damn good at it these past couple of months, so it's practically a superpower all his own now.

 It didn't stop him from vomiting to the side, though. Instead of making him feel better, it seemed to make everything worse. Blood pounded in his head in time with the pounding on the door, he could barely keep himself from collapsing to the ground where he was sick (gross), and he swore his fingers were seconds from falling off. He was pretty sure he'd stalled long enough, but getting himself standing upright, let alone all the way to the door, seemed like asking a little too much. He got his feet planted underneath him anyway, and pushed off from the floor. Immediately he fell into the table and sagged against it. Progress! He'd take what he could get at this point.

 There was a violent sound of a body impacting metal and then the door flew off of its hinges. A sharp dizziness overcame him when he jumped back. His vision had blurred, but he could still make out the very large, very scary, very _angry_ form of a shifted Deucalion. The roar he let out in the confined space of the basement rattled the walls and Stiles could feel it in his bones.

 Those bones were forced into the wall behind him faster than he could process. Nausea somehow canceled out the pain at first, but only for a moment. And entire mouthful of sharp teeth isn't an easy thing to ignore, especially when they're buried in your shoulder and refusing to let go. The cry of pain Stiles let out was deafening to his own ears. It was caught off abruptly by the sharp shake Deucalion gave of his muzzle, fangs still inside Stiles' skin.

 He must have blacked out. He certainly lost time somewhere, because the next thing he was aware of was lying on his side, blood soaking his shirt, unbearable pain, and-

 -and Derek Hale ripping open Deucalion's ribcage.

 It was simultaneously the coolest and most disgusting thing he'd ever seen. Blood spattered the walls, the floor, and Derek's bare chest. It was a testament to how fucked up Stiles felt that he didn't even spare a moment to question _why_ Derek was shirtless. The blood added to the savage air Derek was putting out, fangs bared in a snarl, forearms and eyes stained red. Deucalion's body, still shifted, fell to the ground with a sickening sound, insides exposed. Foam lined his muzzle, tinged a vivid pink from the blood on his fur. Stiles' blood.

 Oh right.

 He was bleeding to death.

 He couldn't be blamed for not realizing it, to be fair. _Everything_ had started to go numb this time and sounds became muffled. All he could hear now was his own ragged breathing. All he could feel was his pulse, surprisingly forceful, pumping blood in his head and out of the wound on his shoulder. A cold sweat broke out over his body and he felt both too hot and too cold at the same time. Fuck. _Fuck_.

 “-iles! Stiles, look at me!”

 Suddenly Derek turned him onto his back, staring down at him, bloodied hands framing his face.

 “Gross, dude. You just had those in a guy's chest cavity,” is what Stiles tried to say. It came out a garbled, incoherent mess and Derek's eyebrows had the audacity to look confused and concerned.

 “Stop talking. Just stay awake, okay? Stiles, can you do that?” Derek asked. Yeah, Stiles could do that. He can't do a lot of other things. He can't be Batman, but staying awake is totally something he can do. Derek lowered his face to Stiles' shoulder, scented the wound, and then reared back. He looked down at Stiles with a mildly horrified expression before turning to Deucalion's body and then back to Stiles. “What-what did you do?” Okay, so maybe staying awake was asking too much, because knowing you're about to get your ass chewed out is a one hell of a motivation killer. Stiles let his eyes close and tried to turn his head away. Derek used his gross, sticky hands to keep his head in place. “Stiles, _what did you do to yourself_?” There was a hint of desperation behind Derek's voice this time, but Stiles is suddenly too tired to care. He just needed a nap and then he'd be ready to deal with everything. Just a quick snooze and he'll be ready to stay awake all Derek wants.

-

 He woke up a day later in the hospital. Staring up at the water damaged ceiling, the steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing he heard for a few minutes. Eventually, he was aware of the sound of someone not him breathing. Slowly, stiffly he turned his head to left. His father was bent over the bed, head resting on the mattress, one hand holding Stiles', careful of the IV. Stiles scrunched his eyes closed and tried to fight down the wave of shame that constricted his chest. He knew his stupid plan would end with him coming out a little worse for wear, but it was last minute. When the last of the Alpha pack attacked the Argent house, Stiles _knew_ everything would end badly. Just _how_ bad was the question. Chris Argent would be lucky if his back wasn't broken, and Scott-

 God, he hoped Scott was okay.

 The flood of dread caused his pulse to elevate, and the monitor began to track the increase. The door flew open and Melissa McCall came rushing in. Seeing that he was awake, she checked the monitor and then came over to lean above him, careful not to wake his father.

 “You gave everybody a good scare, you know that?” she asked, mom-guilt superpower in full effect. Stiles did his best to look sufficiently reprimanded, keeping his eyes of the top of his dad's head. “First,” she continued, softly, “if you ever do anything like that again, I will wring your neck and have you subjected to the most humiliating tests we have, and that includes the one where we stick an impressive needle in your backside.” Stiles winced. “Second,” she said as she leaned down, kissing his forehead, “thank you looking out for Scott.”

 “He okay?” His voice sounded rough and dry. Mrs. McCall nodded, giving him a small smile.

 “He won't be sneaking out of his bedroom window for a few days, but yeah. He's okay. Mr. Argent will be too.” Stiles nodded and instantly regretted it. The pull of his torn skin sent a shock of pain up and down his spine. “You, on the other hand, will be staying here for a while, where you'll get to see my sunshiney face for the next few days.” The smile she gives him is nothing short of sadistic and Stiles is already dreading his recovery.

 “Leave him alone, Melissa,” came a voice from by Stiles' leg. His dad raised his head and used the hand not holding his son's to scrub at his face. “My kid, my merciless punishment.” Despite his dad's words, the look of utter relief at seeing Stiles awake was almost too much. The squeeze he gave his hand was. Tears slipped through and once they did, it wasn't easy fighting them off.

 “So, this all sucks,” is all he could say. He expected his dad to get angry, but the open fondness on the Sheriff's face is something Stiles' never thought he'd see again. Stiles was going to need a box of fucking tissues at this point, christ.

 “Yeah,” the Sheriff said. “You and I have a lot to talk about.” And before Stiles could get a feel for just how much his dad knows, the man gave him his patented Cop Face #6: Lie to Me About What I Already Know, I Dare You.

 "Please tell me you haven't gone out and shot all of my friends.”

 “ _All_ of your friends are werewolves?”

 “The vast majority, yeah.”

 “Well, hell, I might owe some parents an apology-”

 “Dad!”

 “I'm _kidding_ , Stiles, calm down. Melissa, tell him I haven't been out shooting his friends.”

 Mrs. McCall looked up from where she'd been changing Stiles' bandages. “Your father hasn't been out shooting your friends.” And Stiles relaxed back into his pillows- “Unless you count Derek Hale. You're friends with him, right?” -and he (painfully) sat back up again.

 “ _Dad_!”

-

 It took several attempts before the Sheriff could convince his son that no, he did not actually shoot Derek Hale, though he did have _words_ with the alpha. Words that mostly likely involved threatening to shoot him. Because that's what Stiles really needed, his dad threatening the guy that saved his life. Still, they were able to pacify him by the time visiting hours were over, and now he was just staring at the ceiling wondering how long it would be before he and his dad had The Talk (about werewolves, fuck) and before Derek made an appearance to call him an idiot with his eyebrows and-

 “You ate wolfsbane.”

 Stiles didn't know if it was all the pain medication he was on that kept him from jumping or if he was just used to creepers now. He hoped for the former rather than the latter.

 “Look who survived the Packocalypse. Did you hide with your tail between your legs or just stick your head in the ground?” Stiles asked, looking over into the shadowy corner. Peter smiled at him from his seat, and his tone was borderline fascinated when he spoke again.

 “Using Deucalion's... tastes against him by poisoning yourself. Every time I think I have you pinned, Stiles, I am always proven so very, _delightfully_ wrong.”

 “I'm so glad you're happy. Really, this makes it all worth it. Thank you for validating me. Go away.” Stiles didn't even bother giving his voice inflection. He just wanted Peter gone. Peter, however, seemed too amused.

 “You're awfully lucky. The amount of aconite you ingested not only weakened Deucalion but also kept you shielded from the Bite. Had it tried to take, the process would have certainly killed you in your condition.”

 Stiles gave him a sardonic thumbs up, still staring at the ceiling.

 “Although,” Peter continued, thoughtful, “perhaps not. Perhaps you would have survived.” Peter leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Perhaps you would have finally gotten the strength you've been looking for.” Stiles didn't respond right away, turning the words over in his head. He came to a surprising conclusion.

 “I don't want the Bite.” And this time, he could follow the sound of his heart with Peter; the heart monitor remains steady. Peter looked neither displeased or amused, merely intrigued. Finally, _thankfully_ , he stood up from his chair and patted the foot board of Stiles' hospital bed.

 “Try to get some rest. I look forward to witnessing more unpredictable acts of heroism in the future.”

 “Jump off a cliff, please.”

-

 The next morning, Mrs. McCall came in to check on him, changed his bandages, and let him know that Scott would be dropping by later in the afternoon. Apparently he'd tried to come yesterday, but still had sizable injuries to both legs. He assured his mom that he could actually stand today to come see his best friend, provided he get to use one of the new wheelchairs when he made it to the hospital entrance. Stiles had to wince. He remembered when Deucalion took several swipes at Scott, trying to disable him, force him to submit. He wanted to call Scott to let him know it was cool, he didn't need to push himself, but he knew it probably wouldn't change his mind any. Scott was cool like that. And stupid like that. But mostly cool.

 Finishing up in the bathroom and slowly shuffling himself back to his bed, he wasn't really surprised to see Derek sitting the the chair next to the window. Stiles wanted to open with something witty, something annoying to break the tension. Instead, he stood by his bed and played the age-old game of No You First with the man. Derek rolled his eyes, but instead of going straight for the jugular he asked, “How are you feeling?”

 Stiles took a deep breath and worked his way back into the bed. Once settled, he looked back to Derek. “Go ahead and say it.” Derek's head jerked up.

 “What?”

 “Say it. Go ahead and get it off of your chest so we can move on,” Stiles said. Derek seemed shocked and worked his jaw a couple of times before fixing a glare onto the floor. “Come on, dude, I know you want to. You'd really just be stating the obvious, so-”

 “I'm in love with you.”

 While Stiles was glad that they'd taken him off the heart monitor so he didn't have to hear his heartbeat shoot through the roof, he knew Derek could still hear it loud and clear.

 “You-” Stiles shook his head. “ _What_?” Derek frowned.

 “That what you said, right? State the obvious,” he said. Stiles was pretty sure the look Derek was trying to sport was something in the field of annoyed, but instead he looked about seven shades of unsure. Stiles wanted to point out that it was far from obvious. That it was outside the realm of possibility. That there was no way Derek would legit be in love with him and he could stop with this (hurtful) joke any second now.

 “Why?” he asked instead. Derek looked confused.

 “What do you mean, why?” he asked. Stiles gestured to himself.

 “Have you seen me?” His too big nose, his obtrusive moles, his lack of anything resembling decent fashion sense. Derek rolled his eyes again.

 "Yeah, Stiles, I've seen you. I've seen you trash talk werewolves, stand up to hunters with guns. I've seen you stand by the people you care about through the worst of everything. I've even seen you come up with fucking stupid plans that save your friends and put you in danger.”

 “See, that's last part was how I imagined our visit going.”

 “Do you even realize how dangerous that was?”

 “You can't yell at me after saying you like me!”

 “Love is the word I used, moron, stop trying to change the subject.”

 “I don't even know where I am anymore.” Stiles threw up his hands, letting out a frustrated sigh. Of course. Of course someone would declare their love for him one minute and insult him in the next. Maybe this was actually happening.

 "I just don't understand why you seem to think you're expendable.”

 “Hey, whoa, no. I did not go into that plan thinking I was going to get eaten. Bitten, yes. But I was kind of counting on the wolfsbane fucking him up before that happened. Christ, why do you guys always think dying is part of the plan? Dying is never in the plan! You're the one who needs to rethink their- mmngph!”

 And then Derek kissed him. His (now clean) hands had him by the sides of his face and his mouth covered Stiles' and _holy shit_ \- Derek Hale was kissing him. He's kissing him and his teeth nibble at Stiles lip and he opened up to Derek's tongue. It's wet and amazing and everything he's ever wanted in a kiss- Derek jerked back, sharply, chair skidding back from the force of his movement. Stiles panicked for a second thinking he did something wrong when he sees Derek's hand covering his mouth. His expression was pained and it took a second before Stiles realized what just happened.

 “The aconite is still in my system,” he explained aloud. “I have fucking acid spit.” Derek's shoulders started to shake. “This isn't funny, asshole!”

 “Iss a iddle fuddy.”

 “Oh my god, stop talking.” Stiles crossed his arms and did not pout. This was definitely reality. Only he would screw his first kiss up so catastrophically. Derek kept his mouth covered, but his eyes looked at him with amusement, and an amused Derek is too much of a rarity to not appreciate. “Laugh it up, jerk. As soon as I get out of here, I'm calling for a redo. See? No dying involved in that plan. Strictly life affirming acts anticipated.”

 He could feel Derek judging him with his eyebrows, but he chose to be the bigger man and ignore him. Though if he licked the back of Derek's hand in retaliation, well, as lame as it was, acid spit was still a superpower. Might as well use it while he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you guys ever read up on aconite poisoning? Holy hell, son. You do not mess around with this shit. Teen Wolf seems to have a far milder portrayal of its effect on humans, but it will JACK YOU UP.
> 
> Please ignore my cannibal!Deucalion. I'm sure he's a lot less Hannibal Lecter and a lot more like Peter.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Socrates Drank Hemlock (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/848249) by [hummingfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingfox/pseuds/hummingfox)




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